


Definition of Parent

by argylemikewheeler



Series: Tumblr Re-posts [70]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fuck Lonnie Byers first and foremost, Gen, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Joyce loves her son the most
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argylemikewheeler/pseuds/argylemikewheeler
Summary: Prompt: Can we get a really emotional coming out scene with Will and his mom?





	Definition of Parent

Will _told _himself he’d do it on Friday night, right after dinner. Jonathan would be at Nancy’s, Hooper would have evening neighborhood patrol, and his mom would be relieved to have kept the store afloat another week. It wasn’t the best time– right at his mom’s peak exhaustion– but it was better than ruining one of her two days off.

Then again, telling any mom her son is gay would ruin absolutely any day. Will was sure of it– and was dreading finding out that he was right. Will had been slowly stashing food and clothes in Castle Byers, in case he needed somewhere to go, somewhere to hide. Will didn’t want to think as poorly of his mother as he did Lonnie, but he had to be prepared. What good were all the bad times if not to prepare him for when they happened again. and again. and again.

There wasn’t a word Will hadn’t heard before. He could practically hear his mother say it as he stood up from the dinner table. Will was ready for what he deserved.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, baby, what is it?” Joyce held out a hand for Will’s plate, opening the dishwasher with the other. “Was dinner okay? Are you still hungry?”

“I-It was fine. It was really good, Mom. Thanks.” He placed the plate in her hand, careful not to let it tumble to the ground.

“It was just some leftovers. You don’t have to lie. I’ll make something better tomorrow for you– how about… my baked ziti!”

“You only make that on special occasions.” Will didn’t like the feeling that anything _special_ was coming his way. He just wanted ordinary. Calm. _Boring_.

“And what better occasion than, a regular Saturday in August with my special little guy!” Joyce’s arms flung out to wrap around Will’s shoulders, pulling him to her. He couldn’t find it in himself to hug back. She didn’t love him– not the _real_ him anyway. It was wrong of him to accept the love being offered. It was manipulative; making his mom believe he was still the way she remembered. “Will? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He muttered, shaking his head.

“You seem really tense, baby. What’s the problem?” Joyce rested one hand on the back of Will’s neck, bracing him to her. Weeks before Will had sensed evil just over the back of his neck, and then, it seemed like his mother was trying to do the same. “Talk to me, baby.”

“It’s nothing,” Will clenched his jaw, fighting another denial. He had promised himself he’d come clean. He’d confess his wrongdoings and disgrace. “nothing _important_.”

She smoothed his hair down and began to sway with him. “It’s not stupid if it’s upsetting you.”

Will never said it was stupid. He said it wasn’t important. It would make everything in his life, everything he’d done unimportant. It’d erase him. Clean and simple; he’d be the boy who disappeared into the woods once again.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell you.” Will muttered. His nose burned and he fought himself to keep from sniffling. He couldn’t admit he was upset; that was asking for pity when he was the one who should’ve been offering the apologies.

“It doesn’t have to be formal, Will. Just talk to me. I’m your mom.”

In a matter of moments, Joyce would be Will’s mom in name only. The connection, the desire to protect, even the touch would be ripped away the moment Will spoke again. And Will wanted to savor the feeling of belonging for just _one_ more second.

“Mom. I think–” Will no longer could feel his body, couldn’t feel his mother’s hands on his back or on his hair. He lost all form to just become the next five words. “No… Mom, I _am_ gay.”

Will didn’t return to his body so much as the rest of the world seemed to come clattering back into him. A blood rush ran into his ears, his mouth tasted metallic, and the air felt heavy and _red_. Everything felt _brown_, like the moments right as the power goes out. When everything comes to a stop, a whirring conclusion, but it isn’t over. There is a new darkness to navigate: still, blanketing, and tangible.

The hands on Will’s back left him and found new grip on his shoulders. Will wasn’t sure if he knew how to blink; his eyes felt like they’d never opened.

“Okay.” She said softly.

“O-Okay? What… What does that mean?” It could mean anything; Will hadn’t truly prepared for it. It could mean his mother was still processing, beginning to grieve, or already cutting ties with her son as she knew him.

“It means it’s okay, Will. It’s okay.”

Will never prepared for it to mean acceptance.

“It is?” Will wiped his nose, his eyes finally fluttering open. His mother was smiling– _beaming_. There was no haggard disappoint on her face, barely even a wince. “It’s okay?”

“Of course it is, baby. What did you think I would say?” She asked. Will found that a silence said more than any quotations of Lonnie. “Oh, honey. No. I would never– you’re my son and I will always love you. That’s not up for negotiation. I carried you and I raised you and I fed and clothed you and I will _always_ love you– and in return you are only supposed to be yourself. That’s how parenting works, baby.”

“B-But, Dad said–”

“There’s a reason your father isn’t in this house anymore.” She said quietly, pulling Will back to her. She rested her hand on the back of his head, wrapping him up with unnecessary determination. _Protection_. “I love you so much, baby– God… there isn’t _one _thing in this world that will change that.”

“A-Are you sure?” Will was giving her another way out. He had one too.

“Positive.” Joyce sniffled unexpectedly, resting her chin on the top of Will’s head.

The thought of crying had previously terrified Will, but there was a sudden feeling of connection swelling in Will’s chest and fingers– the numbing had subsided. Will’s mother wasn’t offended by Will’s confession, but, just possibly, by the thought that Will was unsure of his place in their home.

After all, Will had a bedroom when his own father didn’t. His place at the dinner table had disappeared the first time he ever muttered that three letter word within ear shot of Will– and he asked his mother what it meant innocently. He learned two weeks later from his father, loud and clear. Lonnie had no place in that house, and it was because Will _did_.

“Thank you for telling me, Will.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Will lifted his arms and wrapped them around his mother. He trusted her; she really did love him, just as he was. Every part– the good son, the zombieboy, one half of the mischievous Cleric and Paladin duo, the worry wart, and the “unlike Jonathan” part. There was nothing that had to be left out in the cold, quarantined in Castle Byers.

“Guess this means I _have_ to make my baked ziti tomorrow night!” Joyce smiled, ruffling his hair. “Have to celebrate–”

“Actually, Mom. Do you mind if we just, maybe have leftovers again. Or just get take out?” Will muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. There was nothing. No signs of evil. “Everyone’s going to be home– I don’t want to draw attention to anything.”

“Oh– of course. We can do an average dinner then. Definitely.” She nodded and fixed her posture, as if standing up straighter was more casual. “We can pull out the special dinner whenever _you’re_ ready.”

Will felt himself going red. “Thanks, Mom.”

“It’s what I’m here for. It’s my job.”

Will had never been more wonderfully surprised to be reminded of the definition of _parent._ Really, it only was two words, steady and true: _to love_. The others were synonymous: to accept, to home, to hug, to hold, to sing to sleep, to remember characters’ names, to knit blankets for outdoor forts, to help name toys, to keep safe, to build up nice and strong to be let out into the world. Joyce had been doing every single definition– and adding on too– but had done it silently and with just three words, routine and nearly missed:

“I love you, my special little guy.”

**Author's Note:**

> [The Rebloggable Post!](https://argylemikewheeler.tumblr.com/post/187263526480/can-we-get-a-really-emotional-coming-out-scene)


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